Bruised Geraniums
by Nerikla
Summary: David Jacobs is crying. JackDavid


_"I can't be what I ain't, Dave."_

_ "What, smart?" David teases, reminded of a conversation they once had._

_ "No. I can't...I can't be like you. I ain't what you want me to be."_

_ "But...but you said that you loved me!" David can hardly speak. He is so horribly confused._

_ "I lied."_

_ David watches as he leaves._

  


- - - 

  


If you look carefully, beyond the smudged ink, beyond the sweat and the filth and the weariness, you might see something that surprises you. If you try to catch his eyes as he walks past, his voice strong as he holds a newspaper out, you might not believe what you see. Because on this day, on the fourth of August, something has happened that makes everything else in his world unreal.

David Jacobs is crying.

Watch him as closely as you can. Can't you see the slight unsteadiness in his steps, the amount of effort it is taking to keep his voice warm as he sells his newspapers? He is trying to get away from something. 

Look behind him. He certainly won't - not anymore, that is. David is afraid to turn around, afraid that such an action would make this real. David swallows so hard that his Adam's apple bobs, his blue eyes intent on the newspaper he is brandishing like a sword.

Behind him, find the boy that stands out from the rest of the crowd. The one with the winning smile, the handsome face, the one with strong arms set off by deliberately rolled sleeves. The one with a girl on one of those well-muscled arms, beaming up at him.

Jack Kelly is smiling.

The girl on his arm continues to chatter, her words frothy and meaningless. Jack smiles and nods every so often to give the appearance that he is listening, but his gaze is on the back of the curly haired newsie down the street. He wonders if he has made a horrible mistake - Jack has never been so uncertain in all his life.

David feels as though he is being torn apart. He can feel the other boy's eyes on him, and the realization is painful. Finally, his eyes now dry and the tip of his nose pink, he turns around and halts in the middle of the street, meeting Jack's eyes with his own.

The two stare at each other for what feels like hours. Jack is the first to break free, grabbing the girl who is at his side and taking her head between two of his large, browned hands. He presses his mouth fiercely to hers, even though it is in broad daylight.

Time stops for David. 

When the two finally break free, both gasping for air, Jack raises his eyebrows challengingly at David. David watches with hurt blue eyes, beautiful blue eyes that are like bruised geraniums. 

Jack turns away, his hand clasped around the girl's. Together the two walk away, leaving David alone in the dusty, crowded street. People shove past as he blocks their path, his feet unable to move.

David clutches his newspapers like a lifeline, trying to stop his world from spinning. The kisses that he shared with Jack, the hugs, the pretty words...were they all meaningless? Jack has never been reliable, but this betrayal seems unfounded and, consequently, implausible.

Slowly, David turns and walks down the street, half-heartedly trying to get an elderly woman to buy a paper. Life must go on - he has a family to help feed.

When he goes home that night, Jack is there, sitting at his table.

Jack eats with the family. Sarah beams at the brown-haired boy, secretly holding his hand beneath the table. David watches in disbelief.

After they eat, David retreats to the fire escape. He buries his hand in the flower pot sitting on the window sill, his fingers entwined in the soft petals. The flowers have little scent, but when the petals are broken, a sticky sap covers his fingers. 

David closes his eyes. 

He can hear the door slam. He can see Jack walking away from the building, tipping his cowboy hat onto his head. Jack's hands are jammed into his pockets, and he is humming a broken tune beneath his breath.

Jack Kelly is crying.

David pulls his hand from the ruined flowers. He puts his palm close to his nose, breathing in the scent. He looks at the flowers, twisted and bruised. As he steps back in through the window, he glances one last time at the flower pot.

He smiles. 


End file.
